The Art of Seduction is a Tech Manual
by Farringtongirl
Summary: A little Cam/John interaction that explores why a machine would know how to kiss so well?
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: **I don't own anything relating to the Terminator series whether it's movie or TV. I'm just playing in another sandbox and I'll clean up before I leave.

**The Art of Seduction is a Tech Manual**

As the door rattles on it's hinges I can't help but look to Cam and as always she's looking directly back at me, the same question reflected in her eyes that I know are being projected by my own. 'What do we do?' Her eyes make that slow calculated sideways glance and I know in my gut that she's running the odds in her head. We can't risk discovery but I'm not ready to give the order to kill some flunky rent-a-cop who just happens to have the worst luck in the world.

This was supposed to be a simple recon mission to scout a potential Skynet Fab and I've screwed things up immeasurably by trying to be a hero before my time. My mother is going to kill me if the security guard doesn't beat her to it. The banging has stopped and instead I can hear someone fumbling with keys. Unbidden, I can almost see the epitaph in tomorrows paper, 'Here lies John Connor, Future leader of the Human Resistance. He was shot by a guy making $15 an hour and died a virgin.' At my laughter, Cameron tilts her head and gives me her most blank expression which I've come to assign as her 'confused' face. The warmth of her hand couples with the last vestige of my fake eulogy and I see the solution to our plight with absolute clarity. "Cam, I need you to follow my lead."

"Yes." She nods in that accommodating and frightening way of hers.

I hear the key catch in the lock and in the split second before the door opens I cast aside all my knowledge of the future and I kiss Cam for all I'm worth. Her response is slow and measured, if she were human, I'd call it hesitant, but then she melts against me and as her tongue slides into my mouth I feel pressure building in my groin. I can't even begin to count on how many levels this is wrong, but neither can I deny how perfectly her body folds into mine. When I palm the supple flesh of her breasts, I nearly come in my pants at the moan she elicits. My fingers are questing up the back and inside of her thighs, intent in their pursuit to ravage that delectable heat. She's encouraging me with a wicked tongue whose writhing seems to echo the steady undulation of her pelvis into mine.

"Ahhem!"

Reality douses me in hot shame, which is quickly followed by cold fear. Fear of what I was about to do and how innocently it all began.

It takes a full minute of heavy breathing before I can remember that it was just a ploy; who wouldn't believe that a teenage boy lost his head and ditched the tour of a microelectronics company to make out with a hot girl in a broom closet. Especially, when the 'girl' looked like Cam. By comparison, the truth is too far fetched. Gary, as his name tag decrees, is staring me down with a mixture of amusement, exasperation, and, if I'm not mistaken, a little envy.

My tongue feels a little funny when I try to speak; like it's lost without Cam's company. Finally, I manage, "We were just…uh..." I look at Cam and back to Gary and shrug. That earns me a grin.

"I'm going to have to escort the two of you out of here." Gary's smile turns just this side of lecherous when his gaze wanders over Cameron and a part of me I don't want to recognize reaches a possessive hand around her waist…_as if she needs my protection_. She leans into me ever so slightly and I wonder if she's playing along for his benefit or mine.

Two hours later, I'm lying in bed nursing a serious case of blue balls and contemplating finishing things off myself when she enters the room. I don't want to look at her but hormones are a treacherous task master and I seriously can't help myself. I regret it instantly. The sight of her standing there in boy shorts and a fitted tank would cause an aneurism if there were any blood left in the general vicinity of my head. She wets her lips and my cock twitches, thoroughly distracting me from whatever it is she's saying. I am so screwed it's not even funny.

Suddenly, I'm angry. There's an influx of testosterone in my system and no place for it to go and certainly no privacy for me to address it myself. But mostly I'm mad at her, "What the hell was that this afternoon?"

She blinks, "I was following your lead."

"Where the hell did you learn to kiss like that?"

"One of the facets of my programming is human interaction."

"You were programmed to kill humans, not make out with them." I'm on my feet, standing a mere inch from her. "What possible motive could Skynet have for building a machine that knows how to moan?"

"Information extraction."

It's so deadly simple and twisted that I stagger back a pace, "You were assigned to be a whore?" I swear that a look of hurt skitters through her eyes, but I push my sympathy aside and hold tight to the renewed rage that's coming from a dark, predatory place within. "Well? I asked you a question?"

"Skynet determined that physical torture was insufficient toward achieving intelligence goals. Most humans would rather die than betray their kind. The primary exceptions involved love. Upon further analysis, it was determined that lust is commonly mistaken for love and that's when my model was conceived."

"You've slept with men for information."

"Men…and women."

End over end, my blood goes from ice cold to searing hot with the addition of that last word. I grab my forehead and cover my eyes, but the image of Cam making out with another woman just won't leave. I'm frustrated beyond measure at this latest turn and can't help but growl, "Fuck me."

Suddenly I'm laying flat on my back and Cam is straddling my waist. Logically I know that she weighs over a ton, but the physics of why she isn't crushing me becomes vastly unimportant when she presses her mouth to mine.

I don't want to do this…I know I don't. I was making a comment, not issuing a command. "Maybe we should…" I hear myself make a feeble attempt at derailing this but then my hands are cupping the toned muscles of her ass and she's pushing my shirt up and off.

God almighty I'm close and she isn't even naked yet. Naked?? Do I really want to have sex with a machine? A small voice whispers in the back of my head, 'women have vibrators, is this really so different?' I get my answer when she shudders out a gasp as I suck at the pulse point in the crook of her neck. This is entirely different. She can feel…it may be software prompted by specific sensors, but there's consciousness at its core. A consciousness loyal to me and I can't abuse that. I pull back slightly and pant the word, "Stop."

She must not have heard me because her hands are drawing her tank top up her rib cage. I open my mouth to repeat myself at the exact moment she's able to pull the offending garment over her head; I think I drool instead. She doesn't seem to mind because she's kissing me again and I'm trying to find a way to speak around her tongue in my mouth. I'm failing in the worst way, but succeeding in others I never intended. Cam's so wet I can feel the traces of her want seeping through her panties and sliding low on my belly. I'm positive that this is what having a stroke feels like…I want to talk…I want to say something, but I'm powerless to do so.

She has me completely ensnared and in that moment of defeat, I recognize the brilliance of Skynet's theory of seduction. It's that knowledge that revives my will. I think I can see the first glimmer of the man I'm supposed to be when I tell her, "Stop."

This time she does and for the first time I notice that she's breathing heavy. In fact, it's the first time I can ever remember seeing her breathe at all. When I look in her eyes, something inside me cringes, because the only word I can use to describe them is 'soulful'.

"Did I do something wrong?"

I let out a deep breathe, "No. I did…I shouldn't have even let things get this far. I tried to tell you before but I guess you didn't…" I trail off thinking about what I'm about to say next and knowing inherently that it's false, "hear me."

"I heard you."

Of course she did. She's the most sophisticated machine on the face of the Earth, which begs the question, "Then why didn't you stop?"

"I was confused." She turns away from me, picks up her shirt and puts it back on while I sit there flabbergasted.

"What do you mean you were confused? How many ways can you interpret the meaning of 'stop'?"

She turns to me with an expression akin to sadness, "Your voice said to stop, but your body told me you were lying."

"Two contradicting vantage points. So why did you chose to listen to my body?"

She looks me straight in the eye and I see true confusion, not just that mask I've seen before, reflecting back at me. "I don't know."

I watch her leave and I can't help but wonder if this is the first time Cameron has ever doubted herself.

**Author's Note: Hello all! I woke up this morning with this little ditty rolling around my brain and since this is the only way I know to purge plot bunnies, I beg your indulgence. This is the first time that I've written a story outside of my comfort zone (I'm mainly a Lee/Kara shipper over in the BSG Verse), so any feedback you have would be fabulous. I'm thinking about tossing on a second chapter of absolute smut, but I'll wait to see if there's any interest. **

**Hugs for reading…kisses for reviewers! Cheers!**


	2. Chapter 2

**Author's Note: FRAK ME…TSCC fans are awesome! Either that or you're all smut mongers who wanted to read a second chapter ;-) Special thank you to the lovely people who reviewed chapter 1…Starbuckjade, Jade, Brutal Moonshine, Confessions of a band geek, Natalie, London Halflife, dragon-warlord, Kristy, dude!!!, anyone, summerlover1, hanna145fancy, Bao Bai Tony, Kat, Ruby Fresh, saveyou, Cassie Winchester, yangsta05, Mishelle20, Cinemanic, blameamy, JL Hughes, and a couple people who wished to remain 'anonymous'.**

**I decided to try something a little different, so this chapter is written from Cameron's point of view. Hope you enjoy.**

**Disclaimer: **I don't own anything relating to the Terminator series whether it's movie or TV. I'm just playing in another sandbox and I'll clean up before I leave.

**The Art of Seduction is a Tech Manual**

Chapter 2

John is avoiding me. Today is the first time in two days that he's stayed in the same room as me and although he is ignoring my presence, his elevated stress levels confirm that he's aware of me.

Sarah is briefing us on a mission that she and Derek will be attempting tonight to further explore Lord Corporation, the integrated circuit fabricator that John and I were unable to penetrate. John seems to grow even more uncomfortable with the mention of our past mission. A careful root cause analysis of our communication breakdown indicates that the distance between us originated there, or more specifically, that evening after our return.

Since that night I've been experiencing systemic lapses, run time errors, and various other glitches. The issues are consistent with a side effect of my model's human relations programming, but it's never manifested in the past.

_Entering Task Assignment – 23:00 hours: Conduct diagnostic overview and debug any distressed software._

Sarah dismisses us with my sole instructions for the evening revolving around John's safety. There should be no conflict between that duty and my scheduled maintenance.

* * *

_Scanning for Viruses………0 found._

_Performance Efficiency………83._

_Neural Network function………119...power fluctuations are taxing system…Error 517._

_Referencing Technical Manual – Error 517: Human relations sensors have the potential to store transferred energy from human counterparts. Excess energy will result in synaptic misfires, lowered efficiency, and if left unchecked, primary CPU damage. DO NOT SHUT DOWN! Complete human relations sequence by running program OMEGA. This will purge the power grid, effectively rebooting the system._

_Access Program – OMEGA…searching……found._

_Run OMEGA._

I cup the malleable flesh of my right breast and roll my thumb over the nipple until it forms into a tight peak. Although the response in my body is the same, I cannot help but compare my technique to Johns. I adjust the pressure of my grip until it mimic's his…firm and urgent.

The power readings in my system are varying wildly as I progress through the program, removing my clothing and reclining down onto the bed. I skim one hand across the soft skin my abdomen while the other pulls an excited nipple between sharp nails until I feel the lick of a pain sensor. It's an embellishment beyond the OMEGA protocol but the energy stores I'm seeking to expel interfere enough with my programming to allow me to be what humans call 'creative'.

The sparse hairs of my pelvis tickle across my palm as my fingers slide against the sensitive folds of moist skin following the series of outlined maneuvers. The response from my body is minimal. In fact, the input of effort seems to be strengthening the tide I'm trying to extinguish.

Just as I twist my left wrist, striving to reach the next target sensor, a choked but husky voice pierces the air and breaks my concentration.

"What the hell are you doing?"

John is in the doorway, staring at me open mouthed. He's exuding a spiked heat signature indicative of arousal or anger. The answer to his question is self evident, but I'm bound by mechanics to respond, "I'm running the Omega program."

He shakes his head and his lip quirks to one side, "Is that what they're calling it these days?"

"Yes. What do you call it?"

He swallows with difficulty, as his gaze sweeps across my form, "Every teenage boy's wildest fantasy coming true." The inflection of his voice infers jest which is confirmed by his next statement, "Most humans just call it masturbating. But then again, you're not human, so why are you running the 'Omega' program?"

"The OMEGA program is the only means to purge my model of corruptive levels of surplus energy acquired from an incomplete coupling cycle."

"So you're telling me that your circuitry is sexually frustrated?"

"That would be a fair human analogy." He takes another step further into the room, but I keep still, deferring as always to my primary objective…John.

"Do you do this often?"

"No. This is my first attempt." He sits at the edge of the bed and my hand twitches involuntarily drawing his eye.

"Is it working?"

"Not yet."

His pulse is racing and his pupils are dilated, "Maybe you're doing it wrong?"

"I'm following the prescribed sequence of pressure point manipulations designed to optimize release."

He looks at me skeptically, "I've been reading Playboy since I was nine years old," he smiles, "if there was a sure fire method for bringing a woman to orgasm, I'd know about it. Besides, I highly doubt a computer could divine all the secrets of the G-spot."

I consult my specifications, "I don't have a G-spot." His laughter shakes the bed beneath me, straining my hold on a nipple which has since become raw. I gasp at the blend of pain and pleasure that rolls across me. When the sensation ebbs, I focus on John again.

His breathing is ragged and there's a bulge protruding from his pants that causes a trickle of warmth to gather in my core. "Since you seem to have everything in hand here, I'll just…" he trails off nodding his head toward the door, but making no other move to leave.

The heat coiling inside me is a virulent toxin and I find myself asking, "If you're sure?"

"No…I'm not…I never am with you." He drags his fingers through his hair before looking me in the eye, "Do you want me to stay?"

I can't describe what's happening; it's a deviation into freedom I've never known. _What do I want?_ Looking into John's hazel eyes, I feel the weight of 'want' pressing against me. It's easier to defer to logic, but surprisingly, the answer is the same, "Yes…the OMEGA method is not bearing positive results; I'd value your input."

"You want me to instruct you?"

"Yes." His gaze seems to heat my skin and in contrast, goose bumps break out across my forearms.

John nods slowly, but pulls back slightly to sit at the end of the bed. "Okay." The pitch of his voice is a timber I've never heard, smooth and low, but layered with restraint. "Lay both of your hands flat on your stomach."

I follow his instructions meticulously, intent to complete this assignment and regain control of my faculties. The majority of his ministrations are identical to those in the Omega program, but the sequencing is different and his indications more subjective to my responses. When he elicits a gasp, he'll repeat the prior step with a minor variation…these small alterations are highly effective. I can feel the energy surplus manifesting as heat that travels down my spine and diffuses low in my abdomen. I'm burning from the inside and my breathing is ragged, mirroring John's stunted breathes.

"Slide two fingers inside and pump them in and out…slowly." I keep my eyes trained on John. His gaze is an anchor amidst this wave of new sensations and data, "Rock your hips up and add a twist to..." he falters as my back arches off the bed and a raspy cry escapes me.

I'm losing focus. My sensory programs are malfunctioning…the lighting in the room is too bright, every fiber in the sheets beneath me is abrading my skin, and the smell of need in the air…both John's and mine…is ubiquitous.

John's voice draws me back as if it were a tangible lifeline. "Cam…Cam…look at me."

I obey, but I don't recognize the feeble voice that projects from me, "John?" He's moved from the foot of the bed and is now sitting at my side, one hand ghosting my left arm and the other planted beside my head on the pillow. He's perched above me, but he's careful not to touch me.

"Are you close?" His voice is raw and he's trembling slightly.

There's a pressure cresting across my neural network that's both immanent and yet elusive. It's the closest I've ever come to understanding the meaning of torture. "Yes."

"Good." He breaks eye contact to gently rove over the contours of my body, pausing to admire the breast held by my left hand, before resting on the fingers of my right. They're exactly where he left them, buried deep within me. His eyes remain intent on that instrumental hand when he tells me, "Continue from where we left off, but move your tongue to circle your clit."

I undulate my hips in counterpoint to the deep penetrating strokes of my fingers, but I stop abruptly, unable to execute the last portion of his command. "Impossible."

"What?" His eyes snap up to meet mine and he stares at me for a long moment.

"It's physically impossible for me to put my tongue on my clit."

"Thumb…" his eyes dart away from mine as he says this, indicating that he's being untruthful, "I meant use your thumb."

"No…you didn't." He licks his lips nervously…no…hungrily. I do as instructed and the euphoria that movement incites allows me to break protocol and point out an obvious, yet unspoken truth, "You're projecting your own wants through my actions." I gasp as his hand gently cups the side of my face and he kisses me slowly. I extrapolate the gentle prodding of his tongue melding with mine against my thumb as it teases my engorged clit. Exactly 2 minutes 13 seconds later my body spasms in a frightening yet purposeful way. I've reached the edge of my hardware's tolerance, but it's not enough. The abyss only welcomes me when I hear John whisper the words, "Come for me."

White envelopes me into a blank canvas. Like a new construct with limitless potential and no directives…I am me, but I'm unbound. I have only time enough to enact one function; I write a memory script of this place and sensation. I've only just input the last binary digit when my systems restart.

"Cameron?"

"Yes."

Relief plays out across John's features and he lets out a sigh and a short laugh, "You're okay?"

_Scanning for Viruses………0 found._

_Performance Efficiency………100._

_Neural Network function………100_

"Yes. My systems are functioning properly." He stares at me, confusion writ across his face, so I add, "Thank you for your help."

"Right." John stands awkwardly and walks towards the door. He stops and turns back to look at me, "If you've slept with men and women before, how is it you've never…" he gestures incomprehensibly with his hands, "…experienced this issue before?"

"Those encounters followed standard interactions and their respective responses."

A smile tugs at his lips, "You were faking it?"

"It was a facsimile, yes."

"So what was different this time?"

I tilt my head to the side, run the comparison, and get only one result, "You were different."

"How?"

His earnest hazel eyes demand an answer I cannot give. A memory of possibility intrudes, allowing me to bridge the gap in logic, "You made _me_ different."

None of my equipment can decipher John's current countenance, but the sound of an approaching car prevents our exchange from going further.

"Good night Cam." John pulls the door shut behind him as he leaves.

It's unlikely he hears me reply, "Yes. It was."

* * *

**Author's Note: Writing for Cameron is really hard…writing from Cameron's POV is damn near impossible, but I hope you were able to enjoy the attempt. I'd love to hear your feedback on how I did as I'm still trying to get these character voices down. If you've got a minute to review and give me a rating 0-10 (lowest-highest) on my character portrayals, I'd appreciate that and any other thoughts you may have are welcome too.**

**Now I feel like I have to add another chapter to show John's thought process after this interlude. I couldn't have Cameron extrapolate on his thoughts in this chapter because it's beyond her abilities, so I'm thinking about a third and final chapter. Any takers?? Or do you think it's better to end the story here?**

**Thanks again for the warm welcome and the boat load of encouragement. Cheers!**


	3. Chapter 3

The Art of Seduction is a Tech Manual

**Disclaimer: **I don't own anything relating to the Terminator series whether it's movie or TV. I'm just playing in another sandbox and I'll clean up before I leave.

**Author's Note: Woohoo…you guys rock! I guess writing from Cam's POV wasn't a total disaster because I've got a lot of reviewers to thank for chapter 2: Alana84, Laura, Ashes Falling, Beneeta, darkefl1313, dakota423, Rose, Cassie Winchester, smartieepants, summerlover1, Kristi, Kathryn, xesty, zestysushi, BroodBoy, kristy, zora080393, Elliesmeow, DaBaba, Kelly, Blackguard, cinemanic, anyone, BenRG, JL Hughes, GreyWold D'Ancanto, Amon-100, Stephanie, Arm-Slave, Mishelle20, Alisha, saveyou, jaf1079, Tpolich, confessions of a band geek, drangon-warlord, Bao Bei Tony, and Hafthand…THANK YOU!!**

**I took a slightly different track with this chapter…it started off where I wanted, detoured to a place I didn't know I wanted to go, and ended up no where I intended. But it's all about the journey and I hope you enjoy.**

Chapter 3

As far back as I can remember my life has been about running. Running is what the future holds for all mankind if we fail. Even though I hate running, it's the most useful form of exercise for someone in my precarious position. It's about speed, endurance, discipline, and not at all about watching Cameron's ass as she sets a grueling pace in front of me.

Despite heading out before dawn, the heat and humidity is already unbearable. A drop of sweat slides down the back of Cam's neck and dissolves into her tank, rendering the white fabric even more transparent. My own shirt has long since been removed and is securely tucked into the small of my back.

As we hit a clearing I fake a muscle cramp because if I have to watch her breasts bounce for another mile without a moment to compose myself, I'm going to die. I pull my shirt out and wipe my face down, breathing hard. Cam watches me before pulling off her tank and mimicking my actions, right down to tucking the shirt into her shorts. "Are you ready?"

I roll my eyes, nod in the direction of the tree line, and we resume jogging.

Now I'm watching her shirt way back and forth, gently grazing her buttocks to the rhythm of our strides. If she were a normal girl I would swear she did this intentionally, but then if she were a real girl I'd be fucking her up against a tree right now. I groan at the mental image and she slows in response to the pathetic sound. She looks at me curiously and it's so damn funny because it's so completely not, that I chuck my sweaty shirt in her face and put on a burst of speed to put as much distance between us as possible.

It starts to rain and the cool drops feel incredible on my feverish skin. I've managed to keep the lead for the past quarter mile, but I can hear the pound of Cam's cadence gaining on me. I glance back briefly and I swear I can see a challenging smile spread across her face. Her eyes connect with mine and I feel like I'm falling…which it turns out, I am.

As always, the first voice I hear in my head as I regain my bearings is my mother's chastening tone, _'mind your surroundings and stay focused'._ I peel myself up out of the mud and turn over carefully, just in time to see Cam lean down and extract my foot from a gnarled tree root. Her ponytail has fallen out and I can feel the damp strands of her long hair tickling my calf as she leans closer to inspect my ankle.

"Does it hurt?"

The answer gets caught in the back of my throat as her mud-slick fingers slide slowly up my leg, probing the right knee tentatively. I can't help but groan at the sensuous combination of lithe touch and cool earth. I screw my eyes shut and toss my head back onto the soft dirt to avoid her gaze, because if the universe isn't going to play fair today, then why hell should I?

"Are you in pain?" A new variation of the same question she asked before, but her tone of voice has changed. It's more silken, or maybe I'm just projecting the humanity into her because that would let me have what I want.

Laying here, flat on my back in the mud, I'm willing to admit to myself that I want Cameron…right or wrong…machine or more. I want her…gasping and frantic, like molten fire all around me. I smile at the delicious imagery, but my eyes snap open when I realize the sensations are based in reality.

Cam's hands are caressing my cock through my knit shorts, a look of playful fascination in her eyes. "Nothing appears to be broken."

My mouth has gone dry and my mind blank. In her hands, I'm stripped down to visceral reactions, which may account for why my hips are rising against each of her downward strokes. When one of her hands drifts lower to graze my aching balls, I regain some semblance of control and grab both her wrists.

I can see myself reflect in her eyes; determined, wild, and hungry. It's the visage of a feral man who's fought too long against his baser instincts. I can't shake the memory of her scent; it's pervasive, intoxicating, and in the recesses of my mind, I know it was probably designed that way. But in her eyes I see a want beyond my own…that naked, soulful look that clouded her features as I guided her over the edge before.

I drag her hands up to the waist band of my pants and I feel her nails rake across the skin of my abdomen, burning a trail down across my hips and thighs, removing the wet fabric in the process.

Each droplet of rain is like a tiny lashing across my overly sensitized skin and I shiver when a pellet inevitably lands on the head of my penis. Cam's eyes track that bead of moisture as it wavers then slides down the length of my erection. Her tongue darts out as though to catch it, but she's only moistening her lips. I growl in frustration and God as my witness, she smirks in response. There's something wrong about this, beyond the obvious, and it's written in the curve of her smile as she bends forward and retraces the path of that raindrop with her tongue.

Further musings are ripped out beneath me, along with reason and coherent speech, when she takes me into her mouth. I arch back into the damp soil, straining to get deeper, to have more. Maybe I manage to even say the words because Cam grabs my ass, kneading the sore tired muscles and effortlessly hefts my weight up. I can feel the head of my dick grazing the back of her throat, and then she tilts my hips down and angles her head just so, until she's able to takes me in to the hilt. I inhale sharply and she holds her position, watching me for a sign to continue or withdraw.

Her gaze flares hot as I roll my hips and she attacks her latest mission assignment with unrestrained enthusiasm. The flush of her skin and the keening noises she manages to make, take me back to her bedroom last night. Ah God, the memory of that evening instantly tightens my balls and provokes me to thrust in counterpoint to Cam's ministrations.

She stops abruptly and holds my body still, lowering me back into the mud and pulling back until she has just the tip of me encased between her lips. Cam holds my hips down, preventing me from moving, but her tongue is busy tracing and tasting my head with maddening skill and zero intent.

This isn't the edge, it's the abyss beyond it and something inside me snaps.

I can't explain how my muddy hands were able to pry her loose and flip her over, but my handprints are smeared up across her sides and her sports bra is gone. When I take one of those rosy tipped nipples into my mouth, I can taste earth, rain, and my own downfall. I help her tear away the short shorts and thong, using the scant fabric to wipe my dirty hands, before thrusting two fingers deep inside her. The way she arches putting more flesh into my mouth is almost as arousing as the clenching heat that's coating my fingers. I could never forget where and how she likes to be touched; the imagery of her self discovery through my instruction will forever be the foundation of all wet dreams to come. I draw back to watch the chaos play across her face and it's both familiar and surreal.

She whispers my name and I feel her legs wrap around my thighs drawing me closer. I withdraw my hand, tracing a moist trail up to circle her left breast before pinching the tip. Her eyes close and she hisses in reply…it could be a 'yes' but I don't need any outside encouragement. I lean down and nip at the pebbled peak, growing more desperate for the taste of her that lingers there.

Her nails are scouring across my back, exchanging mud and blood, but the pain is mute in comparison to the feel of her wet heat rocking against my length. Without thought or words, our sights realign and our bodies connect.

I never imagined it would be like this…it's not just the all encompassing awesome of being buried in tight, wet heat…it's the way this has reached a part of me that I've never accessed before. It's humbling to discover a new, and potentially, fatal weakness within yourself.

There is so much power in our frantic rhythm that I doubt I can last, let alone hope to control this thing. My only solace is that Cameron seems more lost than I am. Her eyes are unfocused, dancing, pleading…just alive. I drop my head to taste the skin at her pulse, grinding into her, and relishing the hitch in her breathing as those two sensations combine.

Cam grabs my hair, painfully and directs my lips back to hers. That flash of dominance flares a reprisal and I abandon any pretense of civility and begin to pound into her as hard as possible. I can't hurt her, but that realization almost destroys my fragile web of self denial. The moral quandary of man versus machine is no match for the feel of Cam coming apart all around me, her teeth marking the flesh of my shoulder as she subdues a scream. I unleash all of my frustrations and desires into those final primal thrusts until the heat coiling in my gut drops down and explodes.

The first thing I regain awareness of is the rain. When the blood stops rushing in my ears, I'm finally able to realize that Cameron is calling my name, "I'm sorry, what?" The blinding white light seems to have followed me out of my orgasm and into the present because it hurts to open my eyes.

"Are you alright?" Cameron reaches out to caress the side of my head, but as her fingers sweep across my skull, a wave of nausea hits me and I roll over to the side, dry-heaving.

That's when I notice that Cameron and I are both fully clothed, and my ankle is throbbing in concert with my head. "What happened?"

"You fell."

It's a simple and direct answer, devoid of emotional resonance that confirms that _this_ is reality and the amazing sex in the mud was a dream. Cam is watching me closely, probably trying to determine the extent of my concussion, but I can't look at her…maybe ever again. I'm eternally grateful for the drenching rain for covering up the evidence of my misadventure, the remnant of which is slowly congealing on my thigh.

I let out a long sigh and watch as the forest canopy begins to spin above me. I slam my eyes closed to reign in the queasiness and speak the next words with care, to ensure that no vomit escapes, "How long was I out?"

"Thirteen minutes and 27 seconds."

A self deprecating grin creeps across my lips, "It seemed longer." My stamina in the dream should have been a dead give away. Realistically, I never would have made it past the blow job.

Now that I'm thinking about it, it should have been obvious from the start that it was all in my head. Cameron doesn't display the range of emotions she did during that little fantasy...playful, seductive, and wanton…like something out of bad fan fiction. But then, that's not entirely true. Her stilted moans and quivering posture weren't the by-product of creative musings, but rather supplanted memories of the night before. And it was in those moments that I found her most desirable…the most _human_.

A cool hand on my forehead, entices my eyes to draw open. I should be shocked by her close proximity, but instead I have to dig my fist into the ground to keep from reaching out to pull her closer because the effect of the delusion lingers.

She trails her hand down to cup the side of my face and I follow her prompts, "Look up. Look down. Now follow my finger." As that digit returns to center, I look past it and at her. She's telling me about my concussion and sprained ankle, and although those are both important and relevant issues, they pale in comparison to the epiphany I've just had.

Whether she knows it or not, Cameron is growing a soul. I saw the spark of life ignite last night. For fucks sake, I literally stroked the flames…but it took today's fevered fantasy to put everything into perspective. As she talks about the importance of me staying conscious while she goes for help, I can see something flourishing in the depths of her brown eyes. What once was hollow space is simmering with texture.

Cameron stands and begins to walk briskly towards the main road. She stops a few paces short of the clearing and turns to look back at me. There's no logical reason for her to do so and I can tell that she knows this too. She smiles and although she's fifty feet away I can see that for the first time ever, the smile reaches her eyes. It's beautiful, as she is, and more frightening than anything I or Skynet could have ever imagined.

**Author's Note: I'm sorry to those who wanted a happy John/Cam ending, but I just don't think that's realistic given the story development thus far. But before you tear me to shreds for the non-traditional ending, please note that I did my best to provide the full sex interlude that many of you requested. **

**Since this isn't my normal fandom, I really appreciate any feedback…good or bad, as long as it's civil. I'm not sure if I'll be writing more for this pairing in the future, but regardless, thank you all for letting me come over for a play-date and for being such gracious hosts! Cheers!**


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